


Blue Jeans

by mellineblanc



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Hot, Love, Older Man/Younger Woman, angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-10-16 05:08:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17543261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellineblanc/pseuds/mellineblanc
Summary: Chiara is a girl-woman who has everything: money, notoriety, and rivieras. As the daughter of a supermodel and an old famous designer, she also was followed by the trail of fame. But losing her father so soon made her feel empty, and for a while, she thought it best to try everything life had to offer. Model, actress, singer. She seems to have everything, but she feels she has nothing. One day, watching a strange man's tv show, he made her wonder if he might fill her up somehow.Even though the age difference may perhaps be a problem.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not fluent in English, so you will find several typos here.
> 
> GOOD NEWS: I FOUND AN ANGEL WHO IS HELPING ME WITH TYPOS AND CORRECTIONS. JEN IS BEYOND PERCTIONESS!

 

 

 

The first time I laid my eyes on him,  _I can remember it perfectly_.

“Who's this baby face guy here? And how is this man able to be so fucking hot?” I thought to myself.

 

I was watching Sherlock, during one of those atypical nights in which I have no desire at all to look at the face of any other human being. I’m usually social, and I like to be with people I love, at parties and social events or whatever. And as much as I always have paparazzi following me, that somehow never really bothered me.

 

That night, however, I wanted to be alone. I found myself watching the first episode of Sherlock three times since I was too stupid to be able to follow his line of reasoning. I was entranced by the man playing Sherlock Holmes.

 

For me, his name has never been strange.  I wondered if maybe some mutual friend has introduced us in the past. Benedict Cumberbatch… I liked his name, Cumberbatch, the way it rolled off my tongue with all those syllables. Different and exotic, just as he seemed to be. 

 

I was (with my mom) at a typical party with some celebrities and big people from movie and fashion world in London, of course he was there. I showed him to my mother and she said he was a little bit odd.

 

"His facial features are weird, my dear,” my mom declared. And she was right, they were. But those features pleased me in a thousand different ways, like those full and strangely well-defined lips.

 

"I love his cheekbones..." I sighed.

 

My mother looked at me sideways with a half smile on her lips, and I knew well what she would tell me right after before she even said it: "You know he's more appropriate for me than for you, don’t you?"

 

She always loved to make these jokes, because I’ve always had a thing for older men. Since our age gap is very little - 16 years - I never found my attraction to men nearer my mother’s age to be particularly scandalous. Still, those moments really amused her. Maybe it was because I lost my father very young, I felt the need to have an older man around me. It was strange, I know, but it sort of made sense, psychologically speaking.

 

_Attraction can be an uncontrollable force, so_ _what can I do?_

 

"Mom, do you always have to make these jokes?" I groaned.

 

Claudia thought her wine was more interesting than our conversation and decided to continue sipping silently. It was just a crush - an attraction - she knew it was, so she paid no attention to my contemplation for the rest of the night. 

 

I harbored this attraction for two years, but it wasn’t something I lost sleep over. I just thought he was delicious. And I occasionally fantasized how he would be taking a shower, running his hands through his hair as the water would ran down his naked body. 

 

Until, by an act of fate, he was cast for the same film I was. And then I - the girl who thought his voice couldn't get any better than his audiobooks that I religiously listened to when I was stressed - went crazy.

 

"That was the strangest attraction I've ever felt for a man in my whole life," I repeated the thoughts that drove me crazy the whole week to my friends as we shared two slices of pizza. Yes, half a slice of pizza for each girl, because half of a slice of a pizza is everything a fashion-model can fantasize for herself. 

 

 

Alright, I’m a liar! We actually have a fashion show tomorrow and the pre-show care was needed, but afterwards, we always liked to stop by at Burger King and prove to the world that mouths were made to eat good food.

 

"He has a girlfriend, Chiara. A longtime girlfriend.” I frowned at Rachel's words finding her opinion, implicit in that comment, absurd and outrageous.

 

“I want sex,” I replied angrily as if that were obvious.

 

Well, for me it was. But for Raquel, Coco, and Lara, it was strange, my obsession. The fact that I was a bit obsessed and fucking attracted was somehow confusing things for them. _Why?_

 

I looked at Coco, hoping she would take me seriously.  _At least her!_

 

IT WAS ONLY AN ATTRACTION, after all! I already had two relationships in the meantime, and both ended only because they found themselves immediately in love with another woman. And I wasn't a stupid teenager full of illusions in life. That was a bit offensive.

 

“Coco!” I exclaimed, demanding some kind of support.

 

She shrugged and I sighed. I wasn't going to get into an argument; it wasn’t worth it. And I also tried not to think so much about it that night. I would sleep early, walk down Anthony Vaccarello's runway, and then go to the reading table for the new movie we were working on. Luckily, I would not see the three of them for at least two or three weeks.

 

"Are you ignoring us?" Rachel asked the next day, sticking her head between me and the backstage mirror, forcing me to face her incredulous face.

 

“Schiffer!” I heard my name being spoken from afar, so I left her standing there. It was time to get my legs to work. “It's your time.”

 

Fortunately, Lara had opened it, and she did not have so much time coming to interrogate me with her arrogant eyes and expression that said, “I’m always right". I was glad. I didn’t want to argue.

 

Later that day, at the reading table, I found myself thinking about this strange fixation on a man who clearly did not want me. I looked over at him, and it seemed obvious that he was very happy with his girlfriend/fiancée or whatever they were.

 

We had a break in the reading. It was past 10 pm, and I thought I'd better recharge my energy with a cigarette outside. For a second, I managed to keep my head in the conversation about my aunt selling my father's house, Donatella (my aunt called last night with this big news). And when I talk about House, I am talking about his fashion house. Apparently, she was tired and wanted to have less responsibility, while I couldn't see something that my father had loved so much to be taken from our family like that.

 

"You seem to have had a rough day." I heard his voice behind me, Benedict’s voice. That amazing low and husky voice. I smiled a little and turned around, finding him doing exactly what I was doing. Smoking so fucking much.

 

And I needed him to tell me so I could realize that some tears were running down my face.

 

"My aunt wants to sell my father's fashion house and it is killing me.” I shook my head and sighed. "Gianni lived for that house. I'm not ready to say goodbye." And out of nowhere, I opened myself with a complete stranger.

 

“Forgive me,” I said when I realized it was too much.

 

He smiled and shook his head. "Have you ever thought your aunt might not be able to deal with all this anymore? That it might be too much for her?”

 

"I cannot say goodbye to my father twice."

 

"And why do you need it?"

 

I couldn't think about an answer. I didn't have an answer. I just stood there staring at him, appreciating him and at the same time reflecting on what he was saying.

 

"How old are you, Mr. Cumberbatch?"

 

I saw a smile forming around the cigarette he was smoking. That was sexy. This was definitely the most frustrating attraction I have ever felt for a man in life. _I would probably repeat this a million times_.

 

"Your question makes me feel like a boring old man.”

 

I laughed a little, releasing the smoke through my lips in the meantime. “It wasn't my intention. In fact, I find you very sexy.”

 

If I was going to say it, I had to face him and not look like a frightened child. And he was firm too, kept our eye contact, and quietly smoked his cigarette for a moment.  _Was he flirting with me?_

 

"That was unexpected.”

 

"Trust me, it was the first thought that crossed my mind.”

 

“Is this for real?” he asked.

_What does he mean by real?_

 

I dropped my cigarette on the floor, I would not make it a big show for him. God knows how men can be arrogant sometimes. Perhaps he was not so, but as Rachel pointed out: he has a girlfriend and seems to be very happy with her.

 

“Yes, it is. But I know you have a girlfriend and I will not _interfere with that_. I simply enjoy being completely honest with people, and I have decided to be with you.”

 

He was in shock - and so was I.

 

I think he watched me leave, at least it seemed that someone was staring at me as I walked back into the building. He definitely did not react like a man who would fuck me even though he was in a relationship, as I mistakenly thought. He also did not seem very interested.

 

_That was what_ _just made me find everything more interesting._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to write some more, but I'm kind of embarrassed to share the rest.

I wanted him. I wanted to be consumed by him. I wanted him to take me.

 

I was always a person who believed in God, but I did not believe much in religion, heaven or hell. Maybe there's this thing called reincarnation because nothing would explain the strange feeling I always felt when I looked at Benedict, or when I was around him. Maybe he had been a king ... yes, a king. One of those well-loved kings. And I may have been just a woman who dreamed of being his concubine.

 

I have allowed myself to believe in that nonsense that men invent to control and manipulate others. All because of an attraction. Maybe I should put that into a song...

 

I heard Chris's (Chris Pine) voice behind me, pulling me out of my torpor and leaving a breath of pepper and grease (coming from his sandwich) in the air for a few seconds.

 

I sniffed at the smell of his food and walked away so that he would sit beside me in the long armchair.

 

"Am I being that obvious?" I asked.

 

He laughed and bit off a large chunk of his greasy food. This man inexplicably has a huge mouth and a monstrous appetite. He was always eating between the intervals of filming.

 

"No," he confided. I nodded as I stared at him. Well, I wanted Chris to tell me more, but I did not want to verbally ask. Fortunately, he's a pretty smart guy. “He looked very surprised." I put my guitar aside and paid more attention to my friend than to his rampant eating. "He said, 'too young, too gorgeous.’ Exclamation mark.”

 

“Exclamation mark?”

 

The exclamation point was a slap in my face, I must admit.

 

So it must have been a text message conversation, which means he must have told Chris right after our brief conversation.  _Interesting._

 

“He has a girlfriend. And I respect that.” I spoke at last. I don’t think Chris has something that is more relevant to me anyway, so I thought I'd better get my guitar back and close the topic.

 

"He said he was like:  _‘Why? Who? Me? Why?’_ ” I laughed a little at Chris's cheap performance and I rolled my eyes. Yet I still couldn’t stop myself from ruminating.

 

Well, there are men who are not Greek gods. Fact.

 

But they have a magnetism ... it's something women can’t explain. It's as if he pulls you in as if his gaze invited you into the confines of an underworld where every form of perversion combined with pleasure was a law.

 

His voice. Hmm ... that warm velvety voice that caressed me from the inside. And I loved looking at the shapes of his face ... and his full pink lips. And his goodness, yes, he has a kindness that was lived and imbued into his soul.

 

I didn’t need to know him to notice that.

 

And at the end of the day, I was finishing packing my bag to go back to the hotel when I felt my cell vibrate. I left my cigarette in an easy place to get caught and threw my guitar at my back. I answered the call as I walked to the exit door.

 

"Calmer?" It was my aunt, Donatella. 

 

When you are upset/stressed about something or with someone and the person asks if you are calmer it makes you more stressed, does not it? Why do they keep asking?

 

I did not dignify myself to give her an answer and she, feeling my silence as a sign, went straight to the point.

 

"I'm going to a shoot in New York next week. Will you still be in Los Angeles?

 

“Probably.”

 

She cleared her throat and then asked, “Can I come by and so we could talk?”

 

“Sure.” This moment called for nicotine.  _It begged!_

 

“All right, my dear. I'm sad you're still mad at me ...”

 

"And I'm sad that you're still trying to sell what's mine to a stranger."

 

"It's ours. This house, it's ours."

 

We didn’t say goodbye, we never did anymore. When my father died, we said goodbye to him. It seems that all the people who knew and loved him had called Gianni before he made his walk to the café and bought his morning magazines, including me, who was in Miami with him. Saying goodbye became a sign of death, and thus farewells became banished between us.

 

The lighter did its job perfectly and in a few seconds, I was already feeling that toxic, relaxing smoke taking over my body. I dropped my purse and guitar on the benches of the little decorative square where it was the studio we were filming and turned my eyes to the sky. Greyish or not, I prefer the melancholy of the sky in my England and not all that sun and forced light of Los Angeles.

 

Some people passed by and greeted me from afar, while I enjoyed my silence and solitude like any normal person. Thank God I'd turned off the cell phone, otherwise, my agent, Enid, would be calling me like crazy. She wanted me to go to Dior's party today and I just wanted to sit on the comfortable couch in my hotel room, with my guitar, a glass of wine, paper, and a pen.

 

“L.A. does not combine with cigarettes. The people here are too light and happy.”

 

I heard Benedict's voice, I didn’t even notice his presence. I opened my eyes in fright and turned to him. Blue jeans and a white shirt. Perfect. But any combination of clothes in him would be perfect.

 

"That's because they prefer weed.”

 

He laughed and I offered him my cigarette. He doesn’t seem to be a man who would refuse good nicotine and he didn’t disappoint me. "Are you going to stay here for a long time?"

 

“Until next week. And then I'm done with my part.” He nodded and handed me back the cigarette.

 

"I saw you writing earlier ... with a guitar by your side."

 

He seemed to want to pick up a subject, to be there, to talk to me, but he was not sure what to say. As if he was trying to please me in some way since he couldn’t commiserate the other night.

 

I don’t need consolation. Fuck him.

 

“It's one of my jobs,” I answered with a shrug. "And ... whenever I'm fucked, it helps me free myself."

 

“The thing with your aunt.” _And with you too_ , I thought. I really wanted to complete his sentence.

 

“Yes.” I smoked some more and passed the cigarette to him. It was almost over, and I would let him have this crumb of mine.

 

“Did you find a balance?”

 

“Balance? Not everything in life needs a balance.” I took the guitar and shifted my shoulders as I watched Benedict for the last time that day. “We can give ourselves the freedom to be unbalanced sometimes. Otherwise, we would go crazy.”

 

He laughed and nodded in agreement, being polite, I guess.

 

His face screams “I am a too nice guy,” while I was the biggest definition of a sad bitch. I held my Birkin by the leather handles and smiled goodbye to him.

 

I was James Dean and maybe he was Pier Angeli.

 

What an exaggeration...

 

Well, at least I hope. And that it wouldn’t be so tragic as well.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An experiment, for me to know if this can become a story in the future.
> 
> Is anyone liking it? Should I continue?

**Author's Note:**

> An experiment, for me to know if this can become a story in the future. Sorry for all the mistakes, English is not my mother language.


End file.
